


The Gardener

by PlanetsBendBetweenUs



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, just pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlanetsBendBetweenUs/pseuds/PlanetsBendBetweenUs
Summary: Based on a prompt I can no longer find that was something like "You run by my house every morning and I make sure I'm outside every morning to see you".





	The Gardener

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little plot bunny that I couldn't get out of my head. It was supposed to be a little ficlet but somehow turned into an 11 page monster. Pure fluffyness. Hope you enjoy!

Emma focused on the rhythmic tapping of her feet against the pavement as they fell into synch with the beat of the song blaring in her headphones. The sun wasn’t yet up, the sky the quiet, pale grey of a city not yet awake. She loved running at this time, before the cars and the pedestrians littered the streets, when it was just her and her music and the comforting ache of her muscles and the adrenaline in her veins as she kept a steady pace. 

She’d taken a new route today, weary of following her usual run through the park after she’d noticed Walsh had started to frequent her favorite path. She’d seen him, dressed like he was out for a run - though Emma knew he never did anything remotely physical if he could help it - standing by a bench, looking desperately like he was waiting for someone to show up.  _ Nope, _ Emma thought. She was not dealing with that. 

She’d found her way into a small cul-de-sac she didn’t recognize. The streets all had annoyingly charming names like “Pleasant Avenue” and “Sunrise Crescent”. She didn’t worry too much about getting lost, sure that she could always just rely on google maps should she lose her way. 

As kitchy as the street names were, Emma found herself quite enjoying this new road she’d found herself on. While the park was familiar and comforting, it ran the risk of encountering other runners. Mostly they kept to themselves, offering a friendly nod or wave but there was always the chance of meeting a Chatty Cathy who was desperate for a running buddy or some musclehead in a muscle shirt who saw this as an opportunity to flirt with anything in yoga pants. But here, she was completely alone. She made her way past the houses, most of them stand-alone older, victorian style buildings painted in bright colours and she caught herself smiling peacefully. It was like a little slice of the past in a big city. It was almost… charming. 

_ “Shit!” _ Emma cursed as she felt the sharp pinch on the sole of her foot. Grudgingly, she slowed and eventually stopped her steady pace, grumbling as she crouched down and reached for the laces of her shoes so she could fish out the offending rock that must have found its way inside. 

As she fumbled with the too-tight knot, she was surprised by the appearance of a truck as it rolled along beside her and pulled into the drive of the house across the street from where she knelt. She hadn’t heard it approaching over her music and almost rolled her eyes as her roommate’s voice rang in her ears, warning her not to listen to her music so loud. ‘ _ You’ll get hit by a bus one of these days!’ _ Mary Margaret was fond of warning her. 

She paused, having just wormed her shoe off her foot as she noticed the man getting out of the cab of the truck. He didn’t seem to have noticed her - not surprising as she was crouched on the curb across the street - but she noticed him.  _ Damn did she notice him _ . She watched as the dark haired man made his way around the front of the truck before coming to the bed to untie a tarp that had been laid across it. He was handsome, Emma thought, not that she was looking. His hair was dark and so were his brows but he had a ginger scruff lining his cheeks and jaw. She watched as the muscles in his shoulders flexed under his t-shirt as he pulled the tarp back out of the way.

He looked over then, suddenly seeming to notice her and Emma panicked, immediately turning back to her shoe, shaking the rock out and slipping it back on to her foot. He’d been to far away for her to see the actual colour, but his eyes had been insanely bright - bright enough to be noticable across a street. 

She looked back, curious - only to know what was in the back of the truck she convinced herself. As she peeked up at him, she saw that he had taken out a wooden crate with flowers inside. She was surprised. She didn’t know what she’d expected the handsome stranger to take out of his pickup truck at 5 in the morning but it definitely wasn’t flowers. 

She kept watching, she couldn’t seem to stop, as he rested the crate on the metal frame of the truck before suddenly his eyes flickered back to hers. He held her gaze for a second, less in an intentional way and more in a deer-in-the-headlights kind of way, his cheeks going bright red in a way that was both boyish and incredibly attractive. Emma felt her own cheeks flame as she forced herself once again to focus on her task and finished lacing her shoe. 

She waited, wondering if she should look again, maybe offer a smile or say hello. He  _ was _ attractive and it had been a while since Emma had flirted with someone. Not since Walsh and boy was he a mistake. She’d been nothing but clear about her intentions but he had taken the flirting and the drinks and the casual sex as a sign of a serious relationship and that was the last thing Emma wanted and now she was left to deal with a quasi-stalker. But this was different. Meeting an attractive man carrying flowers while she was out for a run wasn’t the same as meeting someone at a bar and going back to his place. No this, this had all the makings of a meet-cute and Emma was not looking for some silly romantic encounter. But still, she found herself glancing up. 

The man had lifted the box fully out of the truck now and she imagined he’d be heading into the house with it. She allowed herself to let her eyes rake over the lean lines of his profile. He paused then. Almost like he’d felt her watching him and she saw him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, like he was worried she would notice. When he saw her looking back, he straightened, standing a little taller. He turned to face her and offered her a small smile before raising his hand to offer her a little wave.... And dropping the contents of his flower box onto the pavement at his feet. 

He scrambled, fumbling to catch the box as it tilted sideways and Emma noticed for the first time that there was a prosthetic that ended in an intricate, metal hook where his left hand should be. She watched as he knelt down, scooping the soil back into the box, straightening the flowers all the while casting her frantic, horribly embarrassed, wide-eyed looks. Emma caught herself smiling as she watched the scene take place. She wasn’t laughing at him, not at his embarrassment, but rather - there was something… utterly charming about the whole exchange. And, not for the first time that day, Emma thought that she didn’t mid charming quite so much. 

The man seemed to understand her amusement and his expression changed from one of humiliation and panic to friendly commiseration. She couldn’t hear it, but she saw him huff out a small laugh as he shrugged his shoulders at her. “ _ What can you do _ ?” he seemed to say. Emma smiled and for a second, she debated going over to help him clean up the mess but she thought better of it. Charming was never a good idea, as attractive as the prospect may be. Instead, she double checked the knot on her laces, stood up, and cast him a final glance, lips still curled in a half-smile, before she took off down the road again. 

***

_ Liar. Liar. Liar.  _ Emma thought as she ran down the newly familiar streets the next morning. She was actively trying to convince herself that she had chosen to follow the same path as the day before because she was worried Walsh would still be looking for her in the park; but, as her heartrate picked up when she rounded the corner of Pleasant and Sunrise, she knew it had little to do with the punishing pace she’d set. 

_ He probably won’t even be there _ . She reprimanded herself. What were the chances that he’d be outside his house again at 5am? Surely he’d just been coming back from picking something up yesterday. He’d probably be inside asleep like most people were at this time.

Her stomach started to knot and flutter though as his truck came into view, parked in the driveway where it had been 24 hours prior.  _ Stop it _ . She told her stupid heart and her stupid stomach and her stupid brain as it started conjuring up images of his bashful smile and reddened cheeks. She tried to focus, shaking her head to try pay attention to her music and her feet against the pavement.  _ Don’t you look _ . She told herself. She didn’t listen. 

There was no-one near the truck. The tarp was once again pulled tight over the bed and Emma’s heart sank just a little. She felt stupid. Getting all excited and eager to see a man she’d never even spoken to. What did she think was going to happen? She was chiding herself, reminding herself why she stayed away from men that made her insides go topsy turvy when suddenly - there he was, kneeling in the little garden by the front steps of the blue victorian house. She couldn’t quite tell what he was doing but he seemed to be using his hook to steady a flower as he worked at it with his right hand. She wondered briefly at how dexterous the fingers on that hand must be as he delicately handled the flower. 

He must have heard her approaching because he looked up suddenly, his expression morphing into something that was both surprised and happy as he recognized her. He offered her a friendly smile and a nod, not looking away but also not making any move to stop her and force her into polite conversation and she found herself surprisingly appreciative of the gesture - or lack thereof. Despite her best efforts, Emma found herself offering him a smile in return, her hand coming up in a semblance of a wave. It was just a flexing of her fingers as she ran past but the shy, pleased smile that split his face had her insides buzzing pleasantly warm. 

For the next five days, Emma found herself  running by the little blue house at exactly 5am. And every day, there he was, tending to his little garden with a gentle precision. She’d come to expect their daily exchange. It was never more than a simple wave or a nod but it was always offered with a smile that had her breath caching in her throat and Emma realised she’d not only come to expect their exchanges but had started looking forward to them. 

She’d started running on the other side of the street two days ago. 

Without fail, she found her steps growing faster and a smile pulling at her lips as they always did as she approached the little garden in the early morning hours. She was excited to see him, wondering what he might be doing today. Though she only caught glimpses, she liked watching him tend to the plants. He did it with a kind of patient intensity that showed pride in his work. And the muscles in his arms flexing as he dug trenches or heaved sacs of soil were just another aspect of that work. 

It was hot today. Even without the sun, Emma could feel sweat beading on her forehead and chest. She’d hesitated over her decision to run in only her sports bra. She wasn’t usually one to run while so exposed but damn it it was too hot for anything else. And maybe  _ maybe _ she’d imagined the way that the man in the garden’s cheeks might burn bright red when he saw her. Emma knew she looked good. She worked hard to stay in shape and if she wanted to use her wiles to her advantage to make a handsome gardener blush, well, that was her prerogative. 

As she approached the house, Emma noticed him immediately, smiling as his shape came into focus the closer she got. He was standing in the middle of the flower beds - which had grown exponentially in the last week - a hose held firmly in his hand, folded so as to stop the flow of water as he made his way across to a patch of daisies. 

She saw the stain on the front of his blue shirt, made dark by the sweat of his chest and realised she wasn’t the only one suffering from the heat wave. She briefly thought of asking him to spray her with the hose, desperate for the cool down but thought better of it. She was already in a bra - she didn’t need to be asking a strange man to hose her down. She had some dignity left. That didn’t stop her from imagining how he would look with his shirt soaking wet from the spray of the hose. Emma felt her temperature rise again and knew it had nothing to do with the weather this time.

He must not have heard her approaching, as engrossed in his task as he was. He stood frowning at the flowers, clearly trying to solve some sort of problem when he suddenly looked up, noticing her as she reached the edge of the lawn. Emma felt a little thrill go through her as his eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in a little ‘o’. She didn’t even think he realised what he was doing as his eyes raked slowly up her body. 

Emma was doing everything in her power to not smirk or blush - she wasn’t sure which urge was stronger - when suddenly, the gardener lost his grip on his hose. Emma shrieked as the pent up pressure caused the water to spray everywhere, the green tube flying back and forth like a charmed snake. 

She jumped back, not paying attention, and stumbled. She heard the pop in her ankle before she felt it but the searing pain didn’t take long to make itself known, burning it’s way up her foot as it rolled awkwardly under her. She landed on the pavement with a sharp cry, clutching her injured ankle and gritting her teeth against the tears in her eyes.

The man leaped into action as soon as she hit the ground, having stood stock still, eyes wide with shock as the hose had leaped free of his hand. He rushed to the side of the house, turning off the faucet before running quickly to her side. He crouched down, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, reaching down to touch her ankle but then seeming to think better of it and pulling his hand back. The one on her shoulder stayed where it was and Emma was surprised to find - despite the searing pain she was in - that the weight of it was comforting rather than intrusive like she’d have expected a stranger touching her to be. 

He was closer to her than he’d ever been and Emma found herself a bit dazed by that fact. Blue. His eyes were blue. Forget-me-not blue she thought and almost snorted at how perfectly fitting it was for a man who spent so much time working with flowers to have eyes the colour of forget-me-nots. 

He was even more handsome up close. The scruff on his cheeks wasn’t just ginger but a mix of browns and reds and silver that made the angle of his jaw look sharp and pronounced. And his eyes -  _ holy shit his eyes _ \- his eyes were rimmed by gorgeous dark lashes, wet now with the spray of the hose. She noticed then that his shirt had gotten equally as soaked and now clung to the muscles of his chest and the flat plane of his stomach. She swallowed, the heat of his hand on her shoulder now burning hotter than the fire in her ankle. 

“Are you alright?” he asked again and Emma blinked.

“You’re British,” was all she could think to say.  _ Jesus, woman. Get it together _ . She thought as his brow turned down in a concerned frown. 

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, eyes flashing briefly to the back of her skull before returning to her face with an intensity Emma could definitely not handle. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine,” she said her voice not quite as strong as she’d hoped. She made to get up and the man’s hand was suddenly at her elbow, helping her to stand. Emma blinked in appreciation at the subtle, kind gesture. 

“I’m so sorry,” he was saying as she stood but he was cut off by her cry of pain as she put her right ankle down, her foot failing to support her. She’d have hit the pavement again were it not for his arms coming around her and holding her steady. His prosthesis was solid against her waist, his hand having caught one of hers as he lowered her slowly down on the curve. 

“Easy, lass,” he said as he settled her down on the soft grass of his front lawn. He moved around her to crouch down where her injured leg was stretched out in front of her. “May I?” he asked, indicating her ankle. Emma nodded, unsure what else to say. He examined her ankle with the mastery of someone who knew what he was doing and she wondered briefly if he was some kind of doctor or if he’d just been around a lot of injuries. He looked at her before gingerly poking a spot on the side of her ankle and Emma hissed.

“Ow! Son of a bitch what the hell was that for!?” she shouted. She could see him fighting a smirk as he struggled to give her an apologetic look.

“It looks like it’s sprained,” he told her. “But we should probably get you to a hospital just to be safe. You could have a hairline fracture.” 

Emma sighed, knowing he was probably right but dreading spending the rest of her day in an emergency room. “Alright,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her phone to call Mary Margaret but not finding it. She looked around helplessly. It must have fallen out when she fell. “You see my phone anywhere?” she asked the man. 

He turned to look, clearly spotting something a bit further down the road and stood to go retrieve it for her. He gave her a slightly pained look as he handed it back to her and as she took it she saw why. It was broken - completely - screen shattered with small bits missing.  _ That’s what I get for not buying a case _ she thought, groaning as she tried to turn it on but the screen remained black. 

“Great. Just great,” she said, throwing the useless phone down beside her. She turned to the man, who had stayed silent throughout her little tantrum. “Can I use your phone to call a cab?” she asked hoping for the kindness of strangers. 

He nodded, pulling out his phone and unlocking it. He gave her a strange look as he handed it to her, like he wanted to tell her something but was worried about how she’d react. “What?” she asked, a little irritated because of the pain. 

“The nearest hospital is almost thirty minutes away… it’ll be an expensive cab ride,” he explained. 

Emma sighed, hanging her head. She didn’t relish the idea of spending her meager savings on an expensive cab ride to what would be an expensive hospital visit but what other option did she have? She didn’t know her friend’s phone numbers and an ambulance ride would be just as expensive. She looked up when the man cleared his throat. 

“I - I could drive you… if you like,” he offered. “It’s the least I could do.”

Emma took in his expression. He looked sincere but also fully aware of how one might take the offer of a ride from a stranger - no matter how good looking and charming he was. 

“No offence,” she started, “but I don’t make a habit of getting into cars with complete strangers. I’ve watched the Ted Bundy Tapes,” she told him. She felt a little bad, she knew he was probably just trying to help and deep down she didn’t think he had any malicious intentions but… well, she’d trusted the wrong guy before. “You don’t really seem like the serial killer type but…” She worried he’d take offence but instead the corner of his mouth turned up in an amused smile. 

“Aye but the serial killers never do seem the type do they?” he said in an almost joking manner. 

Emma smiled back a little, strangely at ease around this man she still hadn’t officially met. “Exactly,” was all she said. 

He nodded. “Hold on,” he said before standing and making his way over to the bed of his truck. 

He rifled around in it for a moment before he found what he was looking for. He returned to her and handed her something. Emma took it and was surprised to find that he’d offered her a pair of pruning shears. She looked at them before staring at him blankly. 

“Did… Did you just hand me a pair of shears? To  _ stab _ you with?” she asked in disbelief.

He huffed out a laugh. “I promise there’ll be no need for that, love. But I thought they might help you feel a little safer.” The way he said it was almost a question and Emma just kept staring at him, shocked by the insane but weirdly considerate gesture. If she was being honest, the gesture made her feel safer than the sharp tool she held in her hand.

She channelled her superpower, looking into his kind, bright eyes that held nothing but sincerity and concern. He was telling the truth. Emma took a moment to try and digest the bizarre situation she’d found herself in. Sitting on the side of the road with a man she’d been eye flirting with for the last week and a sprained ankle, hitching a ride to the hospital while brandishing a weapon. This was not how she’d seen her morning going.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” 

He smiled and stood, offering her a hand to help her up. She hopped up next to him, balancing awkwardly on one foot. 

“Do… do you want me to carry you?” he offered hesitantly. Emma rolled her eyes. While the idea of being carried in his arms held some appeal, she felt she’d suffered enough embarrassment for one day. 

“I think I’ll be fine,” she said with a bit more sarcasm than she intended. He smiled at the sass in her voice. “Maybe if I can just lean on you?” she suggested and he nodded again, his arm instantly going around her waist to steady her as she wrapped her own around his shoulders. Emma didn’t know what was more distracting, the feel of his shoulders flexing under her palm as he supported most of her weight to the truck, or the feel of his warm, calloused fingers against the bare skin of her waist. She really hoped they wouldn’t check her heart rate at the hospital because this man seemed to constantly be sending it through the roof. 

He helped her into the passenger seat and it did not go unnoticed or unappreciated by Emma that he didn’t take the opportunity to ‘accidentally’ cop a feel of her ass as he boosted her up into the high cab of the truck. 

“Good?” he asked, making sure she was settled.

“Good,” she answered. 

“Got your shears?” he asked with a grin and Emma held up the scissors and waved them around a little like she was brandishing a sword. His grin grew and he reached to shut the door. 

“I’m Emma!” she nearly shouted, making him freeze with the door still open, looking at her. “Emma Swan. Just… by the way.”  _ Oh god, she was the most awkward human being in the world.  _

The man just smiled again, softer this time. “Killian Jones,” he answered. 

Emma nodded and with that, Killian shut the door. She waited as he made his way around and climbed into the driver’s seat. He looked at her for a second before seeming to realise something and turning to reach into the back of the cab. Before Emma could ask what he was doing, he emerged with a simple, black t-shirt hanging from his hook. He held it out to her and Emma was suddenly very aware of how underdressed she was. She took it, thanking him and slipping it on as he started the engine and took off down the road. Emma tried very hard not to focus on how good the shirt smelled, actively stopping herself from burying her nose in it.  _ That’s not something normal people do, Emma _ , she told herself. 

She cast a glance at the man sitting next to her - Killian. She was taken again by how attractive he was, especially with the sun just starting to rise and casting his profile in a soft, orange glow. But he was also so… she didn’t know what word to choose. Kind? Thoughtful? Shy? That last one surprised her the most. She hadn’t met many men who looked like him and blushed nervously when a woman smiled at them. She also hadn’t met many men who looked like him and spent their mornings tending to flowers. If she was being honest, she’d never met a man like Killian Jones before. He was an enigma and he was one she desperately wanted to solve. The thought surprised her. 

“Where are you from?” she asked, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“England,” he said, smirking as she rolled her eyes. “Surry,” he clarified. 

“How’d you end up here?” 

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and Emma was worried she’d asked too much. She barely knew the guy and she was bombarding him with personal questions. 

“I was discharged from the Navy after I lost my hand,” he told her before she could take the words back and the way he said it suggested he’d lost a lot more than that but she didn’t push. “There wasn’t much left for me back home so I came to Boston on a whim. Wasn’t easy finding work that I could do one handed. Sure, there were a bunch of office jobs and the like but… sometimes you need to feel like you’re really doing something you know? Getting your hands dirty… or hand I suppose,” he joked and Emma smiled at how light hearted he was about his handicap. 

She thought about her own work as a bail bondsperson. She knew what he meant. There was something about the ache in your muscles after a hard day’s work that office jobs had never lived up to. “I ended up meeting a mate who worked in landscaping and suggested I try it out - turns out I have a knack for it,” he told her with what she could only assume was an attempt at a wink. 

“And here I thought you just had a hobby,” she told him, realising that the job suited him. 

She liked listening to him talk. As they drove the rest of the way she asked more questions and slowly the man who was Killian Jones was revealed to her. He had worked with his friend’s company for a while before finally starting his own greenhouse and landscaping business, a job he clearly took great pride in. Soon, they were pulling into the hospital parking lot and the shears were left forgotten on the floor of the cab.

He helped her hop out of the truck and hobble through the emergency room doors and made sure she’d settled in one of the chairs before - despite her protests - standing to get the sign in sheets. He brought them back to her to fill out and took a seat next to her in one of the worn, plastic chairs. Emma suddenly felt guilty, worried that he felt he needed to stay, that she expected him to. 

“You don’t have to stay with me,” she almost blurted out, regretting it immediately as the thought of him leaving sat like a lead weight in her gut. He looked surprised and maybe even a little hurt. 

“Oh, um,” he floundered. “Right. Sorry,” he said and Emma felt terrible. He made to stand and Emma stopped him with a hand on his arm, resting just above where his prosthesis ended. 

“I mean, unless…” she hesitated. She wasn’t good at this. She _liked_ him. She had to admit it to herself. She didn’t want him to leave now, especially not like this. 

“Unless?” he asked, brows raised. He was clearly hoping she’d give him a reason to stay. Emma couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring herself to ask him to spend the day with her in a hospital waiting room simply because she enjoyed his company and hoped that he enjoyed hers too. She just looked at him, biting her lip. 

His expression softened and he sank back into his seat. “Well,” he said, “I should probably stick around if only to get my shirt back,” he grinned at her. 

The wait went by quickly. They didn’t stop talking for the five hours they waited to be seen except when her stomach growled and Killian went on a mission to the vending machines, returning with his arms comically full of snacks both salty and sweet. They’d sat stuffing their faces while she told him about her work and he seemed genuinely fascinated by the stories she told him about some perps she’d tracked down. He told her stories of some of the shenanigans he and his late brother had gotten into when they served in the Navy together that had her laughing so loudly she received dirty looks from other patients. 

She didn’t care. She liked him. Really liked him. It should have scared her but it didn’t. She felt comfortable talking and laughing with him in a way she’d only ever felt with a handful of people in her life - one of whom was her brother and the other her best friend. She was almost disappointed when the nurse called her name to be seen by the doctor. She’d forgotten why she was even here she was so wrapped up in Killian Jones - his laugh and his voice and his eyes and his stories and his smell and just… everything. She had it bad. 

They took x-rays of her ankle and Emma was relieved to learn that it was only a sprain and she would be back on her feet and running in a few weeks if she rested it. The doctor gave her some crutches and she hobbled out of the room, scanning it for Killian’s face. She wasn’t disappointed. As she walked back into the waiting room his eyes met hers and a smile broke across his face so bright it made her heart thump wildly against her ribs. He rose to meet her.

“Hi,” she said, grinning dumbly. 

“Hi,” he answered and Emma wasn’t sure her smile could grow any wider. “So what’s the verdict? Have I maimed you for life?” he joked.

“Nah, just a sprain,” she told him. “You’ll just have to carry me up to my third floor walk up for the next few weeks and we’ll consider your debt paid,” she teased back.  

“Gladly,” he told her and Emma snorted. “Would you like a ride home?” he offered and Emma paused. She didn’t ever have men over. Ever. Her home with Mary Margaret was her safe haven, one where only the people she trusted most ever trespassed. Her, her brother David, and her roommate had always been all she needed in life, all she had room for. She looked at him, watching as the slight self-consciousness crossed his features. She smiled. Maybe it was time to make a little more room. 

“Seems only fair,” she shrugged. “I know where  _ you _ live, after all.”

An expression crossed his face that Emma couldn’t quite read. Suddenly his face was red, his eyes cast down as he raised a hand to scratch behind his right ear lobe. 

“Right,” he said. “About that…” 

Emma stared at him, concern rising in her as she watched him shuffle awkwardly in front of her. 

“I don’t live there,” he told he finally. 

She frowned. “What?”

“I - That first day… I was making a delivery to the woman who lives there - Granny - she owns that diner?” Emma knew the diner he was speaking of but that didn’t clear up anything. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before his words came tumbling out at an impressive speed.

“That first day, I saw you running by and you smiled at me and you were so bloody pretty and then you literally ran away and I just thought maybe you’d be running by again the next day so I… came back and well I felt like a right tosser and a creep just standing there so I figured I should do some work… convinced myself I was just there to do Granny a favour - you know, make up for all the extra fries she gives me - and then you ran by again and you smiled again and well… I just kept coming back, hoping I’d eventually work up the nerve to speak to you,” he finished, looking at her like he was awaiting a sentence.

“So you don’t live there,” she clarified. 

“No.” 

“And Granny thinks what?”

He smirked a little. “That she’s a much better gardener than she is.” 

He bit his lip, smile disappearing as she stared at him, processing everything he’d just told her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I understand if you think I’m some huge bloody creepy stalker and want nothing to do with me and -”

“I changed my route,” she cut him off. 

He blinked. “Come again?”

She laughed at the absolute ridiculousness of it all. “The first day… it was the first time I went down that street. I usually run in the park. It was just going to be that one time but… I changed my route,” she finished, letting him put the pieces together on his own. When he did, the smile that spread across his face was the brightest she had seen yet, his cheeks turning pink in a way she was starting to like far too much.

He gestured towards the exit. “Shall we?” 

Emma nodded and lead the way, both of them grinning like idiots the whole way back to his truck. 

When they reached her apartment building, Killian helped her out of the passenger seat and handed her her crutches. They stood awkwardly, neither really sure how to say goodbye. 

“Well, thanks, Killian. For everything today. You were a real hero.” 

He blushed. “Think nothing of it, love,” he said. “The pleasure was all mine.” 

Emma looked up at him through her lashes.  _ Ask me out you idiot! _ She wanted to shout at him. Killian didn’t say anything and Emma had to stop herself from sighing in disappointment. 

“Well, bye,” she said. 

Killian offered her a sad smile “Bye,” he repeated.

Emma turned to leave, heart sinking as she made her way to the front door. 

“Swan!” she heard him call behind her and whirled around as best she could on crutches. Killian jogged to catch up to her.

“I was just thinking,” he said, scratching that spot behind his ear again. “I feel we owe Granny for ruining her garden this morning. That hose really did a number on her daisies.” Emma looked at him, a little spark of hope flickering in her breast. “Perhaps we could make it up to her by having a meal at her diner… maybe tonight?” 

Emma smiled wide. “Seems only fair,” she said in answer. 

He gave her a goofy, happy grin. He stood for a moment, silent and smiling as he looked her face over slowly. She did the same.  _ God was he handsome _ she thought as his eyes searched hers for a moment before finally, almost tentatively, he lowered his head down to press his lips to hers. Emma’s heart raced in her chest as he kissed her. It was sweet, gentle and exploratory. He didn’t move to touch her beyond the soft brush of their lips as they got to know one another and it made Emma’s heart swell. 

When they broke apart, Emma was shocked that he could still look at her so shyly. She felt herself blushing in return. What was it about this man that made her like this? She’d never felt this way - all giddy and silly and warm. She liked it. 

“See you tonight?”

“I’ll pick you up at 8,” he told her. He hesitated for a second and then, he swooped down and pressed his mouth to hers again, a quick, stolen thing, before he stepped back, waving goodbye as he walked to his truck. 

Emma watched him go, realising suddenly that despite having spent the entire day with him, she didn’t want to wait until tonight to see him again. “Hey, Jones!” she called and he stopped, turning to face her. “Didn’t you promise to carry me up the stairs?” she teased. 

A slow smile spread across his face. He took a step forward then stopped, turning to reach into the bed of his truck, collecting something and walking to meet her with it hidden behind his back. When he finally reached her, he held out a single pink flower that Emma didn’t recognize but had suddenly become her favorite. 

“Far be it from me to go back on a promise,” he said. 

She took the proffered flower from him, smiling at it then at Killian. “Nobody’s ever given me a flower before,” she mused, surprised by the revelation.

He smirked. “Well, you never forget your first.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, you owe me a piggyback.” 

Killian gifted her more flowers than she knew what to do with over the months that followed and she treasured every one. The next time he gave her that same flower thought - the pink middlemist he’d given her the day they officially met - was a year later. There was a ring attached.


End file.
